


inked

by lovelybeam



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: F/F, M/M, i love pining sorey, in which sorey pines and pines HARD, it's my lifeline, so hard he'll get a tattoo to just be able to be near the object of his affections, the tattoo artist mikleo au you never wanted in which sorey pinES LIKE NO OTHER
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8489671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelybeam/pseuds/lovelybeam
Summary: In which Sorey has been longing and pining over that boy in the library whose beauty seems to have been blessed by Maotelus himself, and he finds out he's a tattoo artist.Too bad Sorey hates needles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yeah idk lma o
> 
> this will be multi-chapped lmao
> 
> 1/21: Y I K E S how did I not read this over.., ,., edited some stuff, and I will have a new chapter tonight bc we all love big piney dorky Sorey

Sorey could swear this was a good idea.

This shouldn't be too bad, right?

He could deal with this.

Shots weren't too bad, he proposed, so he could deal with this, right?

Except he couldn't deal with shots.

At all.

Even now, he could not bear the thought of having his skin poked and prodded by sharp, pointy, pricks of hell.  He still closed his eyes tightly enough as tears welled in the corner of his eyes.  As soon as the doctor was about to give him the injection, he had to have his friend Rose with him to sock him in the leg as a distraction.  He did not even get candy or stickers anymore after hell had finally blown over!

So, no, he couldn't.

Sorey felt the insides of his stomach twisting, and could swear he felt the bile threatening to crawl up his esophagus.  He made a disgusted face at the sour taste in his mouth, and swallowed promptly to try and dispel it.  His hands tapped nervously on his jeans as he felt the sweat accumulating in the palms of his hands.  The smell of rubbing alcohol and latex permeated throughout the air, and Sorey took another moment to ground himself as he heard the buzzing of a tattoo gun in one of the tattoo stations in the open floor plan of the Seraph Tattoo shop.  The consistent buzzing sounded like the cries of a thousand hellions bellowing into his ears, and he cringed as he took in a deep breath through his nostrils. Exhaling slowly, he was startled by a pair of sophisticated violet eyes glancing at him.

Sorey froze.

"This was a bad, bad, bad, bad idea," he cursed inwardly to himself.  He was brought back to reality as soon as he felt a sharp jab piercing his side.  He winced inwardly and glared at the owner of the hand.

"Rose," he said quietly, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Come on Sorey, go get your tattoo!  You'll be fine!  Heck, the worst you can do is pass out, right? " the female attempted to reassure, however this just made the anxiety residing in his belly swell and that creeping, sour feeling began to rise up again.  Sorey sprung up out of his seat and slapped his face lightly to center himself. _Haha, the worst I can do is pass out.  Absolutely lovely.  Well, there's no backing out now!_

With a new resolve, Sorey exclaimed "It'll be fine! I can do this!" he reassured, bringing his fists to his hips in a dramatic pose with a shining grin. Well, he can't go back now.  

Especially with the object of his affections he has been pining over the past 4 months sitting in front of him so politely, with his head tilted slightly to the side with a small smile adorning his face. He waited at the counter, and pulled out some paperwork for any customers to fill out.  He looked so different in his attire here than from what he wore at Ladylake University.  All bits of skin were still covered, which Sorey thought was ironic, considering he was a tattoo artist.  Did he have any tattoos?  Maybe he'd let him see them someday!  Maybe one night, Sorey could slowly unbutton the crisp, white fabric of his freshly pressed button-up, slowly savoring the -

"Sorey? Is that you?" he said kindly, pulling out a pen and placing it on a clipboard, along with the forms that needed to be filled out.

_Crap._

_Don't make it so darn obvious that you're kind of a creep who was just having fantasies about him.  Don't even DARE to make it obvious that the only reason you're sitting here, willing to do this is for an excuse to talk to him._ Sorey was pitiful, but whatever.  Rose was the one who had this stupid idea, and there was no way he could tuck tail and run away now, especially with him actually having a conversation with him after all of these months.  

"Uh, yeah!  Hi!  That's me!  Yes, I'm Sorey!" his spoke rapidly, trying his damn hardest to not let his face become flushed.  

"Hi Sorey, I'm Mikleo," the other introduced.  "I will be your artist today." " _Oh, yes, trust me, I know who you are,"_ Sorey said to himself, but he pretended to feign innocence anyway.  

Sorey only nodded in response.  

"Before we get started, I just need you to fill out this paperwork.  I also need to see your ID," Mikleo asked, handing the clipboard to his customer.  

Sorey merely looked at him dumbfounded, and quickly grabbed the clipboard and placed it on the counter.  His hands fumbled about, and trembled as he reached for his ID to hand to the tattoo artist.  Mikleo smiled fondly at him, and took his ID from the other's hand, accidentally brushing his fingers against the others.  Before Sorey could react, Mikleo quickly turned around and put his ID in the copy machine to get a copy.  Sorey started at the paperwork in front of him, trying his damn best not to let that accidental brushing of hands send his mind into a frenzy.   _It was just an accident_ , he kept repeating to himself.   Now if his dumb hand would stop trembling, that'd be -

"Nervous?" Mikleo inquired.  He noted the shaking of Sorey's hands, and how the boy's usually sunshine kissed skin lost a shade of it's usual glow and faded into a slightly clammier shade.  He furrowed his eyebrows, concerned.  "You did eat before you came, right?  I don't want you passing out on me."

Sorey quickly shook his head, his feather earrings swaying frantically to mimic his movements. "No, no!  I ate! Don't worry about me!  I'm just really, really, nervous!  But it'll be okay!  I'm ready for this!"  

Mikleo smiled gently at him and about-faced to bring Sorey to his room.  "Alright then, Sorey," he said.  "Let's get started."


	2. and so it goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Sorey's nerd life gets turned the frick upside down  
> (a premie in Camlann, born and raised  
> pinin after mikleo is how he'll spend the rest of his days..)

Sorey didn't care too much about all that romance-y stuff.  He just couldn't be bothered.

Rose has tried to bring him on group dates to have him meet and find a potential match with only those she deemed worthy, but he always ended up being the flat forth wheel. Whenever his "date" at the time tried to bring up any thing to converse about, Sorey always ended up delving into the history and spouting off random archaeological trivia about the location they were in.

At the end of the night, his "date" always left early, making some excuse that something came up with no promises of seeing each other again. That didn't go over too well, obviously.

Truth be told, Sorey never felt any of these encounters were supposed to go above being merely acquainted with other people. However, after the other person would leave, Rose would just groan in frustration. Sorey was hopeless.   _No wingman could ever give Sorey a pair of wings to fly in the romance department_ , Rose would say.

How was Sorey supposed to know that not everybody cares about the surrounding architecture that probably dated back to the Era of the Gods?

How could they not care?

 _Oh well_ , Sorey thought.  Everyone had their own thing, and apparently most people weren't as enthusiastic about archaeology and history.  Rose would always just sigh in exaggeration and bang her head on the table as soon as Sorey started his tangents. "You're going to be forever alone, Sorey," she would confess flippantly as she raised her head back up for her blue eyes to meet his.  Sorey would merely shrug in indifference as he stirred the ice in his drink, shortly after taking a sip. "I'm fine with that," he admitted to himself.  He was happy.  He had his friends, his hobbies, his interests, and his family.  All he needed at his side were the ruins, the Celestial Record, and some mabo curry buns.

However, fate had other plans and decided to drop-kick Sorey in the face that one day when he saw an otherworldly creature step into the library of his university.

It was just like any other day.   In between classes, Sorey found solace in the university's library's history section.  The smell of antiqued pages, the feel of the page turning on his calloused fingertips, and the sights of towering bookshelves brought him peace and happiness.  He loved raking his fingers down each of the books' spines, pulling it off the shelf to take a glimpse of the first few pages to see if there was any new information he could absorb.  He constantly would be lost in his own world, imagining days of lore when shepherds fought along the seraphim for hopes of bringing a new, brighter tomorrow.

However, his everyday routine was brought to a screeching halt when he felt a soft warmth under the pads of his fingers, instead of the well-known feeling of the leathery, cool spine of a book.  Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, his gaze snapped to his right to see what the source of the otherworldly softness and warmth belonged to.  Realizing that, oh shit, this was a hand, he quickly snapped his hand back to himself, and to the back of his head to sheepishly rub the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention, I get kind of lost and didn't realize you were there-" he began, as he turned to see who's hand he touched.  

He definitely wasn't expecting this.

Sophisticated violet eyes, hair the color pale aquamarine that was pulled up into an elegant, flowing ponytail, such fair skin that Sorey could have sworn it was translucent.  

Sorey did not even know if he could speak.  Was he dreaming?  Was this a seraph like of legend; supernatural beings that possessed so much beauty, power, and poise that would only those gifted with high resonance could see him?  

Sorey snapped out of his reverie after the seraph-like being spoke.

"I'm sorry.  You can take a look at it first, since you were here before me.  I wasn't really paying attention either," the violet eyed man confessed, a subtle bashful expression crossing his features.  Violet met emerald, and Sorey knew in that moment he was screwed.  "I can just come back for it later.  There are a lot of things I want to check out here anyway, the collection of books of legends of the Shepherd is unlike anything else I've ever seen," he added, taking the book gingerly in his hands and handing it in Sorey's direction.

Sorey internally panicked. 

_No, wait, stay cool, you know how to breath,_ he chided himself.

You got this. 

(He knew that was a lie.)

"A-Ah, no.  It's okay.  I don't need it for anything," he managed to spit out, looking anywhere but at the mesmerizing violets that were fixed on him.  

Pale eyebrows momentarily furrowed in confusion, but moments later a small smile was born onto the man's lips.

"Thank you," he said as he gave Sorey one more smile. He brought the book to his chest, and turned on his heel.

And then he left.

As soon as the coast was clear, the brunet's forehead fell on to the shelf in front of him.

_**What, and who, the hell was that?** _

And that is how it all began. Now, he just needed to get his name. However, he didn't know if that was even possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be better about longer chapters i swear   
> twitter.com/soreysfeathers  
> cherrims.co.vu is the tumblr thing if you guys wanna talk ;)


	3. faint hearted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> get wrecked, Sorey.

Sorey visibly paled as Mikleo began to prepare the tattoo gun.  His gaze constantly flickered back and forth onto his chest, the gun, to Mikleo’s face, to the gun, to Mikleo’s face once again.  Warmth radiated up his face as soon as he realized how obvious he was being with ogling the angelic beauty at his side, which led him to making his resolve to just staring at the walls in front of him to try and contain his wandering eyes.  He took a deep sigh inward, and exhaled slowly as he began to feel violets watching him attentively.  

 

It felt absolutely sinful to have such eyes bestowed upon him; he wasn't worthy.  

 

Sorey was going to die.

> [](//imgur.com/7Swsc)

 

"So, you want it right here?" Mikleo said.  His finger lightly poked the area of hard muscle on Sorey's chest.  His finger laid there for which seemed like an eternity.  He cocked his head to the side lightly, humming in question.  A small smile adorned his face.  Sorey was thankful that he still had his shirt on, he didn’t know if he would be able to handle the softness of Mikleo’s fingers lightly grazing his chest, and if his mind dared to wander and not-so-hopefully supply: pale digits _ caressing his own skin lightly, nimble fingers delicately dancing down Sorey’s toned stomach,  the pale hand intertwined with the drawstring of his shorts- _

 

Sorey gulped audibly and shook his head quickly to try and dispel such audacious throughs from his brain. Oh, how he wished he could impale himself on Mikleo’s tattoo gun and end his misery!  Mikleo’s finger did not budge from the spot on his chest.  Sorey blinked several times; his jade eyes owlish and aware, as he opened his mouth to speak.  His throat felt like sandpaper.   Maybe water would help alleviate the feeling of nails dragging down his throat and esophagus, _ but he knew that this was not that kind of thirst. _

 

He opted to nod instead.   At least he was able to do that.  His stomach was already flipping and flopping wildly as his heart pounded vivaciously against his ribcage.  

 

“Yea, yes,” he said lowly, coughing to clear his voice.  “I mean yes, I want it there” ( _ along with somewhere else, his unhelpful mind once again added) _ .  He somehow finally managed to speak clearly and audibly, instead of the less than helpful squeaks and mumbles he expected to vocalize.  

  
He had to seize whatever victory he could get.

 

“Okay,” Mikleo said.  “So, what exactly do you want to get?” he questioned lightly, his voice humming with a lyrical lilt.  

 

“Ah, the.. The Shepherd’s symbol,” he said.  Mikleo’s finger still hadn’t left his chest.  Sorey’s eyes darted downwards to the pale digit pressed against his chest, and Mikleo must have noticed Sorey’s discomfort.  He pulled it back slowly, and brought his hand to his chin.  He made a noise of acknowledgement; a small hum reverberating in his throat as he reached onto the tray next to him to grab a marker.  Sorey’s eyes widened at the tattoo gun.  Namely at the needle.  The huge freaking needle that was about to constantly stab him mercilessly, etching Mikleo’s mark on his body and soul forever-

 

Mikleo’s gaze flickered to Sorey’s chest,. _.his lap?, _ to his eyes, back to his face, and back to the marker that rested in his left hand.  He looked away as he uncapped the marker,  expression unreadable.

 

“I’m going to need you to take off your shirt,” he said, quietly.  His voice was velvety; smooth.   

 

Sorey would love to wake up to it every morning, he would also love to wake up to Mikleo’s creamy, smooth legs intertwined with his own; the two contrasting colors of their flesh complimenting the other so beautifully - 

 

Sorey felt himself shiver as he tried once again to contain his wild fantasy.  Mikleo’s body shifted slightly, his back to Sorey as he allowed him to remove his clothing.  Sorey’s own eyes fluttered downwards as he reached in front of him to grasp his shirt, swiftly pulling it over his head.  His own hands were shaking as he swiftly removed the article of clothing from his body.

 

He knew Mikleo couldn’t be watching, but Sorey couldn’t beat down the lingering sensation of eyes on him.

 

Watching.  

 

Observing.

 

Sorey reasoned with himself that it was likely due to the nerves from getting something permanently etched onto his body, as well as having a literal seraph next to him.  As soon as he took the bothersome piece of clothing off of him, he grasped it lightly in his hands; fists curled up and grasping onto the fabric.  He grimaced as he felt the moistness that was contained in his shirt that was entangled between his fingers.  Was he really sweating that much?  Did he smell?   Mikleo’s patient eyes weren’t bestowed upon him at the moment, so he quickly took this opportunity to quickly bring it to his nose.  He inhaled quickly, paused, and then exhaled in relief.  

 

He didn’t smell.  

  
Thank Maotelus.

 

However, his blessings were cut short as soon as he became hypersensitive to the fact that patient, violent eyes were suddenly looking at him.  A small, quiet giggle slipped from Mikleo’s lips,  a pale dainty hand covered his mouth in politeness.  Sorey could have sworn that he saw a slight pink hue grazing his fair skin, however as quickly as his eyes may have seen it, he quickly turned his back to Sorey to prepare himself for the tattoo. 

 

“Don’t worry, you don’t smell.  If that’s what you’re worried about,” Mikleo said.  He began to slide one glove over his hand, a loud “snap” echoing in the room as he adjusted the fingers to fit more comfortably.  

 

“Well, that’s good,” Sorey laughed, breathing in to calm his shaking body.  Mikleo tilted his head lightly again to one side, a small smile pressed against his lips.  Mikleo’s hand came to rest on top of Sorey’s quivering one, and he grasped it lightly in reassurance.  “It’ll be okay, I promise,” he assured calmly, and greens widened in shock at the initiated contact.

 

It did nothing to calm him.  If anything, it made his heartbeat falter, his hands quiver and body quake.  His pulse raced.  Mikleo looked at him, concerned.  His eyebrows furrowed slightly.  Sorey swallowed to try and assuage the bile that threatened to climb up his throat.

 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”  his voice lilted, his concern evident.  “You can always come back another time,” he said as he finished putting the glove on his other hand.  “You’re looking awfully pale.”

 

“No, no, I’ll be fine!” he assured, his hands grasping the armrests.  He flashed Mikleo the most convincing smile he could possibly muster. 

 

Mikleo smiled, clearly unconvinced.  

 

“If you’re sure.”

 

The tattoo artist turned around in the chair, his back to Sorey, to continue preparing.  First, he grabbed a bottle of disinfectant to clean the area where he was going to place the image.  He sprayed it lightly on Sorey’s chest, moments later grabbing a paper towel to wipe him dry.  Sorey became hypersensitive to the paper towel that brushed against his skin, and to the pads of Mikleo’s fingers that moved the towel with a gentle, yet firm pressure.  After he was finished, he grabbed the marker again,  placing the towel aside, and faced him once more.  He brought his right hand, pointing a gloved finger to Sorey’s chest, once again, and poked it lightly.   He dragged his finger lightly down his chest once again and pulled away slowly in a calculated and fluid fashion.  He brought his left hand, marker in stow, and began to lightly trace the symbol that Sorey knew like the back of his palm.

 

The first thing that came to mind was that yes, Mikleo was touching him.  The second thing that came to mind was that Mikleo, in all of his perfection, seemed even more perfect in this moment.  He did not even need to pull up a reference for the symbol that had become a part of Sorey’s being; a representation of his heart and soul.  He was sure, in this very moment, that Mikleo was his match in every single way, his one and only; his soulmate.  

 

Who else would know how to draw the symbol perfectly, with no reference, from memory?

 

Sorey felt the light, steady pressure of the marker touching his skin.  His eyes travelled down to Mikleo’s face.  The slight dip of his nose, to the pale, soft texture of his skin; the deep, violet skies of his irises speckled with sparkles of silver that he always found himself staring into when the other was not looking.  

  
Mikleo’s eyes quickly flickered upward, and Sorey froze.  Violets met emeralds.  No one dared to pull their gaze away, and Mikleo’s mouth contorted into a knowing smile.  He looked downward again at the sketched image and pulled away to inspect his work.

 

“I think this size is good,” he said, spinning around once again in his chair to prepare the tattoo gun.  Sorey couldn’t take his eyes off the way his hair whipped around him as he turned.  “Take a look?” 

 

Sorey stood up, legs wobbly and feet uncoordinated.  He quickly righted himself, and looked at the sketch in the mirror that was marked on his chest.

 

It looked perfect.  Perfect size and perfect placement, and Sorey felt like it belonged there.  He felt complete.  

 

Just like how he felt complete when Mikleo’s finger gently graced his chest, their eyes meeting, the tattoo artist smiling oh so gently at him and by his side.  Whether it was pining, butterflies, or something else unnamed, Sorey felt a pull to the man next to him.  He felt that pull when Mikleo’s hand brushed his own that day in the library at their university, and again whenever he saw him, looking so pensively at a book with his hand on his chin in contemplation: even though Mikleo may have not known Sorey was there, creeping behind the bookshelf and just watching him with awe and admiration as the light filtered in oh-so-gently, giving the man an ethereal glow.

 

Heat rose quickly up Sorey’s neck, and Mikleo’s lips quirked into a smirk.  However, as fast as it appeared, it was gone, and Sorey took the opportunity to sit himself down.  

 

Mikleo turned again to the tray where his station was, and finishing preparing the tattoo gun.  He swiped his finger against some of the ointment used for lubrication and rubbed it gently on Sorey’s skin.  Sorey once again felt himself flushing, and Mikleo paid no mind.  He grabbed the gun with one hand and stepped on the pedal, dipping the tip into the ink.  The loud buzzing rivaled the pounding of Sorey’s chest that infiltrated his ears.  Mikleo looked up to Sorey again, his gaze softening.  A small smile graced his lips.

 

“You ready?”  he said.  He rolled closer to Sorey.  Their knees lightly brushed, and Sorey tried to calm himself by concentrating on the size of his own leg in comparison to Mikleo’s.  His heart just pounded harder, his face became hotter, and he could feel the sweat escaping his pores.  His breathing became labored.

Mikleo brought the gun to his chest with his left, and his right lightly pulled at the skin to give him an even surface.

 

The last thing he saw were violet eyes widening in shock, thin lips moving in panic while the sound of a voice never reached him.

 

Everything faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahahahaaha this... took a lot longer than anticipated.  
> thank you again to Chim/makkurataichou for helping me with proofread and giving me motivation to write again! YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST ILY  
> do I love making Sorey suffer?  
> always  
> [ LOOK AT THIS AWESOME ART THAT CHIM DREW FOR THIS AU ;O; THANK YOU AGAIN!!!!](https://twitter.com/Chimfucius/status/907412609678286848)


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